


Hidden

by bjrit92



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 08:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10302065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjrit92/pseuds/bjrit92
Summary: You found it by accident. The bunker was a labyrinth, interconnected hallways and hidden doors. Now that you had some down time, you were going to find out as many of your new home's secrets as you could.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a one-shot and took a life of its own. More chapters will follow, I have no idea how many, so stay tuned!

You found it by accident. You'd been living with the Winchesters in the bunker for about three months, now. The boys had left you on research duty for a hunt and you decided some exploring of your new home was much overdue. You wandered down the hallways, not caring to keep track of where you were. The bunker was a labyrinth, interconnected hallways and hidden doors. The three of you had been so busy during the short amount of time you'd been here that you hadn't wandered farther than the necessary bedroom/bathroom/kitchen locations. Now that you had some down time, you were going to find out as many of your new home's secrets as you could.

Your feet led you to a room with a dusty handle at the end of a long hallway. The boys had obviously never been in this room, or if they had, they didn't see reason to spend any time here. You gripped the handle and opened it to find...nothing. Absolutely nothing. The suspenseful dusty handle led to an equally dusty and empty room. You breathed out a sigh of disappointment and began walking back up the hallway. Every room you'd found so far had at least something in it: bookshelves filled with unnamable curio, machines that did Chuck-knows-what, one memorable room had only a rocking chair in pristine condition in the corner surrounded by a "do not cross" rope you'd find in front of a club. This was the first room you'd found that was completely empty! It didn't make sense!

No...wait. It didn't make sense. Knowing what the Men of Letters were, not everything was as it appeared to be. That room had a secret. You were sure of it. You turned around to go back to the dusty room when you heard the front door slam from the distance and Dean's faint call of your name. The mystery room would have to wait, it seems.

***************************

It was another week before you found time to go looking for the mystery room. The three of you had decided a break was well-earned and were taking the weekend off. Dean had dragged Sam to a bar. They tried to get you to come, but you preferred to stay home. Besides, you knew what would happen. Dean would get drunk and hit on some girl, probably take her to a motel close by or even back here to the bunker. Sam would drink a little at the bar, watching his brother find a girl to hook up with. The hot bartender would start flirting and the two of them would hit it off and he would bring her back here and spend the night and you'd be forced to see her in the kitchen tomorrow morning wearing his tshirt and making pancakes and--okay, calm down, you told yourself. You'd recently been developing feelings for the younger Winchester. Knowing that he saw you the way Dean sees you, a surrogate sister, and also knowing the types of girls Sam usually brought home, you tended to let your jealous imagination take over. It hurt to know that the two of you would never be. Not only for the reasons above, but for the fact that you both were hunters. Dating someone also in the life was tempting Fate at her finest. So, you turned down the offer to tag along. You had other ways you wanted to spend your time.

You tried retracing your footsteps from the week before, but you hadn't entirely been paying attention then, so it took almost an hour to find the offshoot hallway that ended with the correct room. You felt the anticipation building as you turned the knob, but even though you knew there was nothing on the other side of the door (that you could see) you felt a pang of disappointment when you surveyed the standard 11 x 11 room. 

You walked into the middle of the room and looked around. "If I were a secret, where would I be?" You thought out loud to yourself. You kneeled down and started pressing and knocking on the floorboards. Nothing interesting happened. You walked around the edges of the room. The walls were covered in a peeling floral wallpaper from the 50's. You pressed on the walls in various locations. Nothing happened. 

You sighed and leaned up against one of the walls. Maybe this was really just an old, empty storage room. You absentmindedly picked at a rip in the wallpaper. 

Wait...what's that? 

You pulled on the rip a bit more and uncovered a perfect circle blackened into the wooden paneling. It could be nothing, but your intuition told you it wasn't. You pushed your thumb against the patch and heard a click. Turning, you saw on the other side of the room a section of the wall push inward like a door. Your eyes widened. You pushed the button again and the door closed. You ran to the wall, examining it. It sealed so well it was virtually undetectable. If you hadn't know it was there, you would never know. You ran across the room and pushed the button again. The door cracked open. Heart pounding, you walked to the door and pushed it farther open.

All you could see was darkness. You pulled out your phone and turned on the flashlight. You could see shapes in the darkness. Oddly lumped shapes, sitting perfectly still at random intervals. Turning the light to the right, you saw a chain hanging from the ceiling. Against your better judgement, you pulled the chain. To your surprise, a light turned on overhead. How this odd area of the bunker still had working electricity, let alone a decades old lightbulb that still worked, you didn't even bother trying to understand. The Men of Letters were weirdly brilliant people.

The light didn't illuminate as much as you would have liked, but it made the space light enough that your eyes could better adjust to the dimness. The odd lumps seemed to be furniture of some kind. You walked to the nearest one and pulled the sheet from over top of it to reveal...a couch. You were right, it's furniture. But why is it stuffed away and hidden like this? You walked around pulling sheets off to reveal various pieces: a coffee table, an end table, an antique armchair, a bookcase, a china cabinet...it was as if this was a secret stowaway room of some kind...just add a bed and it could have been someone's room. 

You came to the last item covered. It was large and in the corner of the room. You pulled the sheet to reveal a beautiful grand piano. You ran your hand over it. It was breathtaking. You'd played piano growing up, but once everything had happened and you'd entered the life, it was the first thing to fall off your radar. You'd been quite good, too. You'd won several competitions and even played live on your local cable channel on their "Young Prodigies" segment. It had been at least five years since you'd even touched a piano. You wondered if you remembered how.

Opening the keylid, you found Middle C and pressed the key. Immediately you cringed. Not only had the sudden sound irrationally startled you in such a quiet, dark place, but the piano hadn't been tuned in years. Closing the keylid, you looked around at your findings. Smiling to yourself, you knew you'd found your new pet project.

*********************

You spent as much time fixing up your new hideout (that term feels so juvenile but really, what else was it?) as you reasonably could. You wanted to keep it secret, so you were careful to only spend time there when the boys weren't home. If they were suspicious about your sudden increase and enthusiasm in volunteering to stay home on research duty during hunts, they didn't voice it.

You tried to tell yourself that spending time away from Sam would help lessen your feelings for him, but you couldn't help thinking and worrying about him from the moment he left to the moment he returned. You never found out what happened the night they went to the bar. They didn't come back to the bunker until after you'd gone to bed, and you didn't care to ask. Perhaps your imagination was worse, but you didn't want reality to confirm it.

You'd snuck in some lamps that you'd found in a storage room. Buying new bulbs for them and cleaning them a bit, you finally had sufficient light in the room. You could see more details of the room. The walls were a detailed oak paneling with intricate designs carved in the wood. The floor was wooden as well, with a large ornate (and very dusty) area rug taking up three-quarters of the room. It had taken you three runs with a vacuum cleaner to get all the dust out of the carpet and now the deep reds and earth tones shone through beautifully.

You'd found a small wooden bar cart you'd missed the first time in a corner near the couch. Opening it, you'd been surprised to find a half-full bottle of what looked like whiskey and a decanter full of a rich, thick red liquid you were suspicious was not booze.

The couch had needed a little cleaning and the entire room needed dusting. After a solid two weeks of sneaky work, the room was fairly clean. You'd even taken a few of your personal belongings and books to put on the bookshelf. The room had become livable, and you were going to take full advantage of your new secret. 

You turned to look at phase two of your rehabilitation of this room: the piano. It was going to be a pretty huge undertaking. You'd looked under the lid and there were no less than ten strings that needed replacing, all of them needed cleaning, and of course you needed to tune the whole thing. You glanced at your watch. It would have to wait. It was getting late and you didn't want to boys to get suspicious. Why you were so intent to hide this from them you didn't know. You turned off the lights and walked out of the room. Pressing the hidden button, your secret sealed itself away. You crossed the room and closed the door as quietly as possible. You turned to walk down the hallway--and walked smack into Sam Winchester.

The impact had thrown you off balance (it was seriously like hitting a wall) and he reached out his hands to grip your shoulders and steady you.

"(Y/n)? Here you are! We've been looking for you. We're going out tonight. You, me, and Dean. No, no protesting--" you'd opened your mouth to argue and he'd placed his finger over your lips. You wanted to kiss it. "It's been a long couple of weeks and you, especially, haven't had a night to relax." You sighed and he felt your shoulders drop in surrender. He smiled and your heart raced. He glanced at the door behind you. "What were you doing in there, anyway?"

Your eyes got wide as your brain scrambled. "N-nothing!" You stated firmly. "I was just...exploring. I got lost. Thanks for finding me! Let's go have fun!" Hoping he would take the hint, you plastered a huge smile on your face and marched away down the hallway. He watched you turn the corner. He turned and opened the door to the room you'd come out of. It...was just an empty room. Shaking his head and quirking a smile at your endearing eccentricities, he closed the door and followed you.


	2. So, What's Your Type?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have finally dragged you out to the bar for some well needed down-time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter of a chapter, but I wanted to get a little relationship-building between you and the boys.

"I cannot believe I let you two talk me into coming here."

You were currently sitting in a booth at some bar a couple towns away, slowly nursing a beer. Sam chuckled and Dean nudged your arm. There was a jukebox in the corner churning out classic rock and the air had a distinct whiskey-and-cigarettes smell to it. You weren't opposed to going out from time to time. You could keep up with the best of them and had actually once beaten the great Dean Winchester in a drinking contest (a fact you had vowed to never let him forget). You were no stranger to the "go to the bar, get a little drunk, get taken home by another faceless man for a night of fun you'd barely remember" routine. Lately, though, with your less-than-brotherly feelings creeping up for Sam, the routine had been harder to dance, and even harder to watch him perform.

Dean, true to form, had chugged down his first beer and had gone up to the bar to simultaneously buy another and flirt with the bartender, leaving you alone with Sam.

"So...how are you?" You started rather lamely. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched.

"I'm...good, I guess. Yeah."

You cleared your throat. You were beginning to realize that it really had been a while since you'd had a proper conversation with either of the brothers. You were one twitch away from asking about the weather. "Did the last hunt go well? No one came home too bloody which I'm taking as a good sign."

"Yeah, it was a simple salt-and-burn, like we'd anticipated. The guy's widow was a little tough to get to let go of the locket, the one with his hair in it? Dean almost had to wrestle it away from her while I kept the ghost at bay. He got me pretty good on my arm--" he paused to roll up his sleeve, showing you a healing gash across his forearm. You recognized Dean's handiwork. "--but Dean patched me up in no time. Only six stitches." You smiled at his story. You'd volunteered to research for that case (and the four before it) and while you loved fixing up your new secret room, you missed the action of a hunt. Maybe you should join them on the next one. Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing. "You know...I-we, Dean and I, really miss you out in the field with us. Don't get me wrong, it's great to have someone on tap for research to save time, but you're an excellent hunter. You should come with us on the next one."

Before you could respond, Dean plopped back down in his seat across from you and Sam. "Sammy's right. You're too good a hunter to be stuck on the books every time." He turned to Sammy, "No luck with the bartender. Turns out she likes 'my tall cute friend, is he single?'" Dean looked at Sam expectantly, the latter of whom sputtered and looked from Dean to the girl behind the bar. Dean leaned over and gave Sam a shove. "Look, ONE of us needs the chance to blow off some steam with that gorgeous pair of legs up there. If it can't be me, it had better be you. Go!" Sam looked from Dean to you. Not wanting to seem weird, you forced a smile and gave him a "go-get-'em" thumbs up. Sam gave an awkward sigh and got up from the table to walk to the bar. You watched him and your heart sunk deeper with every step he took. Naturally, sex-on-legs behind the bar was at him instantly, smiling coyly and twirling her hair, leaning forward enough to show off her cleavage. It took you a second to register that Dean was talking to you.

"--and then I let Sammy dress me up in a princess costume and we paraded around downtown like Sunday lovers." You turned to him and saw his eyebrow quirked. You smiled sheepishly at him.

"Sorry, Dean."

"It's okay, (y/n). Where have you been lately? It's not like you to miss out on so many hunts. I know you. Something's off."  
Dean had always had a way of getting inside your head. You couldn't lie to him if you tried. 

Try, you did. "I'm fine, really I am. I've just...not been in the hunting mood lately. I'll pull out of it, no worries." You tried to give Dean the same go-getter smile you gave his brother, but Dean saw right through you. He harrumphed and took a swallow of his beer. You heard laughter and turned your head to see The-World's-Hottest-Bartender toss her hair with a tinkling laugh at something a smiling Sam said to her. The sight brought odd emotions to the surface and you quickly schooled your expression so as to not let anything come to light. Turning back to Dean, you knew you hadn't been quick enough. He'd stopped his beer on the way to his mouth, eyes on you, eyebrows cinched in thought. You cleared your throat and took a large swallow of your beer--too large, as you choked it down.

"So, um, Dean. Any new cases you've come across?" You smiled at him, hoping he would take the hint. No such luck. Dean's beer slowly lowered to the table. His eyes were thoughtful and his mouth was quirking at the corners.

"How long?"

You played dumb. "I figure the two of you are right, it's been too long since I joined you on a hunt. It's been what, two weeks? Three? I'm really missing the action--"

"(Y/n). How long."

You sighed in defeat and your shoulders dropped. Your smile slid from your face and your eyes dropped to the bottle in your hands. "A couple of weeks. Look, Dean. I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Dean leaned forward and put his hand on your wrist. You looked up at his caring face and he smiled gently at you. "I understand. It's hard, falling for someone in the life. So much uncertainty can be scary."

You bolstered at his comment. "It is scary, but it's not only that. It's...silly." He gave you a look of confusion, squeezing your wrist to tell you to continue. You looked away from him, embarrassed by your lack of confidence. "I just...I mean...look at me! I'm...well, I'm not that." You emphasized your point by nodding your head toward the sexy girl currently writing her number on Sam's hand with a sharpie. You could feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the alcohol wasn't helping you keep your emotions in check. 

"(Y/n). Look at me. No, really. Look at me." You lifted your eyes, heavy with shame, to meet Dean's. "I could sit here and list your amazing qualities and every reason Sam would be an idiot not to see them, but I know that's not what you're looking for, so I'll say this: you're selling yourself, and Sam, way too short. Don't count yourself out before the game's even started."

You chuckled a bit, "wow, Winchester. Metaphors? You're starting to show your age there a bit." Dean let go of your wrist and huffed, but there was a smile on his face as he took a swig of his beer.

A moment later, Sam rejoined the table. He exuded confidence and you could barely look at him. You busied yourself picking at the label on the beer bottle in your hands. You didn't notice Sam's questioning look at you when you wouldn't meet his eyes. He looked at Dean, who shrugged.

"So, how'd it go, Sammy?" Dean asked him. You continued to look away from Sam, wishing you could melt through the seat and into the floor. Sam gave you a long glance and looked back to Dean.

"It...I dunno. She's nice. She's not really my type." His words made your heart a bit lighter and a small smile graced your face. You lifted your eyes and saw him looking at you. "Now, (y/n), there's a guy over at the bar nagging me if you need another drink. Apparently, you 'look thirsty and a real man like him could take care of you.'" He was smirking in amusement as he finished, and you were smiling, too.

"Really now?" You started. You looked around Sam's shoulder and instantly made eye contact with a guy who had obviously been watching you. He was tall and rather good looking, but he was nothing in comparison to the man in your peripherals. You winked at the man, who perked up. You turned your focus back to the man beside you, who was watching you with an eyebrow raised. You gave a small laugh and drained the last of your beer. Locking eyes with Sam, you said, "nah, he's not really my type. I'm ready to leave if you two are." 

Sam seemed to mentally shake himself and slid out of the bar to let you out. Without looking back, you walked out the door and toward the car with Sam behind you. Neither of you saw Dean roll his eyes at the both of you as he followed.


End file.
